


Milan

by Artemiseire



Series: Cowboy, Peril, and the Chop Shop Girl [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Minor Violence, Mission Fic, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Pre-Relationship, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, aro!Napoleon Solo, how do plots work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemiseire/pseuds/Artemiseire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The agents of U.N.C.L.E. head to Milan for a mission. The usual hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into the mission, Gaby and Illya discover Napoleon set them up with only one bed.   
> Turns out tiny Gaby is the big spoon.

The day had started like any other pre-mission day. Gaby prepared herself to play her role as Illya’s fake wife. Again. This time Illya was a small-time fashion designer, visiting Milan with his aspiring model wife. She took an extra half hour trying to get her hair just right, deciding her character, Mrs. Elsa Solokov, would be more meticulous about her appearance than Gaby Teller the chop shop girl from East Berlin.

Eventually, she met up with both of the boys to go over the plan for the next few days of action. It was all straightforward, infiltration and immersion.

The biggest, frankly scariest portion of the mission was the “main event.” There was going to be a private fashion show sponsored by their target, and Gaby was going to play her part as the wanna-be model by walking the catwalk.

Of course, she was also supposed to be focusing on chit-chat between the models and coordinators, but in the end she was still being whisked into the frantically glamorous life of a model.

It’s just going to be a walk, a simple walk in pretty clothes, she reminded herself for the millionth time as she put on her fur-trimmed coat to go down to the car with her “husband.”

Illya gave her a questioning, worried look as she took a deep, shaky breath. It was subtle, as were most of his expressions, but it was noticeable enough for her. She shrugged it off and turned to Solo. “Isn’t it time for you to leave?”

He gave her a charming look in response, as usual. “I think you’re right.” He sighed dramatically and swirled his drink before downing it. “In that case, I wish you both a long and prosperous marriage.” He turned to the door and started to step out before raising a finger. “Oh, I almost forgot. I took the liberty of arranging your hotel room this time. I hope you like it.” With one last, infuriating grin, he left them.

Gaby narrowed her eyes, wondering what he meant by that, exactly. Before she could think up anything truly horrible, Illya sighed impatiently and hoisted up their bags.

“Let’s go.”

Peering up at him from over her thick-rimmed sunglasses, Gaby could see the tenseness under his eyes. He was just as concerned with whatever Napoleon’s plan was as well. As she made her way down to the car, she hoped it wasn’t going to be anything more than a little joke, she wasn’t sure Illya could handle even a small amount of teasing.

 

**

 

Mr. and Mrs. Solokov checked into the hotel right on time, arms twined together, fingers knit. Gaby leaned into the wall of man next to her, drawing strength from his steadiness. She made sure to toss up a few “loving” glances at him as they wandered through the lobby and up to their room.

As soon as the door to their suite shut, they separated. Illya got to work scanning the room for any surprises from Solo in the form of bugs. He found a few and left them, rolling his eyes.

Gaby, however, wandered through to see what she had to deal with for the next few days. Spacious rooms, a stocked minibar, a nice balcony overlooking the romantic skyline of the city, a comfortably luxurious marble bathroom, and a delightfully plush bed.

One, solitary bed.

Suddenly Solo’s teasing comment made sense.

Gaby stood at the door of the bedroom and sighed. Slowly she turned her head towards Illya. In a singsong voice, the one she usually reserved for their public displays, she called out to him. “Oh, Darling? Come look at this.”

The corner of the room Illya stood in iced over. Slowly he walked over and stood behind her. He was completely tense, apparently mistaking her tone as a warning for danger. His brow knit tightly as he scanned the room.

Then his eyes narrowed as he eyed the single bed.

With a resigned sigh, he turned back to the larger room of the suite. “I’ll take the couch.”

One glance at the couch was all Gaby needed to realize there was no way Illya would fit on it comfortably. “Don’t be ridiculous, that thing is far too small for you.”

He glared down at it, almost as if he was dejectedly willing it to grow.

“You’ll just have to sleep on the bed with me. There’s plenty of room, I don’t take up much space.”

As she turned away to refresh her perfume, she heard his faint mumble of “I do.”

 

**

 

After an uneventful day touring the city and pretending to be lovers, Illya and Gaby returned to their room. Like always, they dropped the lovey couple act as soon as the door shut. Illya set up his chess set for a round or two by himself.

Gaby, on the other hand, sat down to enjoy some of the delights the minibar had to offer. She didn’t drink often, but the first night on a mission was stressful. She only allowed herself two glasses this time, lest she tackle Illya again.

A short while later, she was in a happy daze from her drinks, and she felt the urge to bother him and gave in. With two quick steps she made her way over to him from the couch where she had been lounging, and reached out to move one of the pieces he was staring at so intently.

Before her finger touched the stone piece, Illya’s massive fist closed around her wrist. “Don’t,” he growled without even looking up at her.

Keeping her fingers outstretched to the board, she studied him. He was steady as ever, he just didn’t want to be bothered. His grip was loose, his calloused fingers barely grazing the soft flesh of her wrist. More than anything, it was a simple warning, advising her against annoying him.

But she couldn’t resist. With a wide grin, she flicked the pawn closest to her finger over, causing it to skitter across the board and knock down a knight.

Illya’s grip tensed as he watched his game fall apart. With a heavy, impatient sigh, he looked up at her through his lashes, his bright blue eyes burning with irritation. She held his gaze with a cheeky grin, testing her luck.

There was something startlingly soft about his actions. Only his hand and face betrayed any emotion, the rest of his body was relaxed and easy. No tapping feet, no twitching fingers. If Solo had tried this, he would have earned himself a black eye. But Gaby knew she was perfectly safe. It gave her a dangerous confidence.

Eventually, Illya broke their locked gaze, rolling his head a bit as he turned back to his destroyed game. Gingerly, he released her wrist and set out to putting everything back where it was.

Smugly, Gaby turned to the bedroom. “I’m going to bed. I’ll leave you some space. Don’t stay up too late and all that.”

He hummed in response.

Gaby sunk into the thick covers of the bed, burying herself in the absolute lavishness of it. The sheets smelled fresh, and faintly of lavender. Her sleepy head swam with the delight of the comfort around her. Wiggling her toes and stretching, she happily took up as much space as she could. She stayed there, sprawled over the bed, dozing, until she heard Illya shift in the next room and abruptly remembered that they would have to share the bed.

Reluctantly, she rolled over to her side and tucked the sheets around her. It was still incredibly comfortable, but the thought of being back to back with Illya all night, fighting over space and sheets, was less than comforting. She was used to his presence when she slept, sure, they had shared a hotel room multiple times now. But it was always with separate beds. Now?

She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to sleep, hoping she could just sleep through it all.

It didn’t come.

As tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Fidgeting with the lapel of her pajamas, she listened to the soft sounds of Illya moving through the suite, preparing for bed.

He was remarkably silent for such an imposing man. His footsteps were heavy, suitable for his weight and size, but were not loud or obtrusive. Even the expected loud sounds were dampened. He was incredibly attentive to the sound he made: packing away each individual piece to avoid clacking sounds, using only a small stream of water to brush his teeth and wash his face to avoid any loud splashes. She could still hear him fussing around, and she still knew exactly what he was doing and when, but every sound was delightfully faint.

After a few minutes of his gentle shuffling, he made his way to the bedroom in the dark. Gaby was hyper-aware of him behind her as he gracefully slipped between the sheets. The bed barely jostled with the new occupant, and she was sure if she had been asleep she wouldn’t have known he’d come to bed. The smell of his soap, musky but clean, washed over her. He shifted to get comfortable, using significantly less of the covers than she was expecting, then went still.

Silence crashed through the room, only Illya’s steady breathing and the ticking of the alarm clock broke it. Gaby breathed shallowly to hide any sound, weary of bothering the giant next to her.

Gradually, she could feel heat radiating from him, soothing her. Then, a gentle snore, barely louder than a normal breath.

He was out.

Carefully rolling over, she studied him. Broad shoulders illuminated by the curtained window behind them, silhouetted against the soft glow of the rest of the room. Gently rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his quiet snoring.

Gaby didn’t even realize her eyes had closed as she dozed off.

 

**

 

As usual, Illya woke to the first sign of daylight, a shard of orange streaking out over the room. Blearily, he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and shifted to get up.

But he couldn’t.

There was something on his back, heavy and warm, keeping him from moving.

Knitting his brow, he twisted to look over his shoulder, mind racing at the possibilities.

Instead of any threat, he found Gaby tightly curled up in a mound of blankets, tucked into the curve of his back, sound asleep.

He turned back to lay normally, thinking over how that could have happened, and weighing his options for what to do next.

He finally settled on staying put, allowing her to get her sleep.

Staying as still as possible for her, he stared at the wall, mind fluctuating between thinking about everything and nothing. The mission ran through his head a few times as he reassured himself of what he needed to do. He also pondered the design of the wallpaper, redesigning it to his tastes.

His haphazard thoughts were interrupted when a small, slim hand slid over his chest, gripping lazily at the front of his shirt. Confused, he looked down at Gaby’s hand as she nuzzled his back. Obviously she was completely unaware of what she was doing, and was likely just trying to soak up his body heat. He considered getting up to adjust the temperature of the room so she would be more comfortable, but he changed his mind when he realized that would mean extracting himself from her arms, which would likely wake her.

So again, he decided to just do nothing and allow the little chop-shop girl to do what she pleased.

Two agonizingly boring hours later, Gaby’s hand splayed taut as the rest of her body stretched like a cat. She let out a loud moaning yawn at the stretch. Illya pursed his lips as he avoided thinking about anything too much.

Behind him, Gaby went still. It wasn’t the same still she had been for hours. It was far more aware, processing.

Sheepishly and slowly, her hand snaked back over his side. Cold air rushed into the space between them as she moved back. The bed rocked and the sheets pulled as she rolled over.

An uncomfortable silence settled around the room.

Giving up, Illya sat up and rubbed his hand over his head, mussing up his bed head.

Beside him, the mound of blankets mumbled something unintelligible.

Cocking a brow, he asked, “What?”

Gaby poked her head out of the blankets just enough to reveal bright red cheeks as she muttered venomously, “Don’t tell Napoleon.”

With a soft snort, Illya nodded. “I won’t.”


	2. Bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solo and Gaby have a chat and the "happy couple" go out to dinner.

Later that day, Illya went out on his own, leaving Gaby and Solo at the hotel. Naturally, they were under the guise of not knowing each other, but still Solo slipped into Gaby and Illya’s room early in the afternoon to discuss what he had found the day before over some tea.

“So,” he drawled after a long pause in the conversation. “How’s the room working for you?”

Gaby sighed, she knew he would ask. “It’s lovely,” she supplied. “Very spacious, and as luxurious as always.”

Solo sipped his tea, humming lightly in response. “And the bed is comfortable?”

Casually, she shrugged and poured herself more tea. “Of course. Very plush, the sheets smell like lavender. I think my only complaint would be…” she let her voice drop a notch, “the gigantic man I have to share it with.”

Solo hissed teasingly. “Harsh words, Gabs. What would your hubby think?”

Gaby set her cup down, leaning in accusingly. “That’s another thing. Why is it always me and Illya playing the couple? Why is it never me and you?”

Solo pressed a hand over his heart. “Why, Gabs, I didn’t think you thought of me that way. I’m flattered.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is not what I mean and you know it.”

He shrugged it off. “Even pretending to be a couple requires some level of chemistry and romance. It’s…not really my area.”

Gaby raised a brow, it was her turn to tease. “You don’t think we have any chemistry?”

A charming, dimpled grin flashed her way. “Now now that wasn’t what I meant.”

Humming, Gaby leaned back, gracefully crossing her legs in front of her. “Then what did you mean?”

Running his finger around the lip of his cup, Solo weighed his words carefully. “I just mean that I don’t have any romance in me. Sex, on the other hand, is completely different.” He grinned at her intense eye roll. “But what happens in the bedroom is only a portion of a relationship, and one the public shouldn’t exactly be privy to. So, the part of the romantic couple goes to you and Peril. And it works so beautifully because the two of you actually have pretty good chemistry.” He paused and sipped his tea before casually adding, “That and the poor boy is smitten with you.”

Gaby studied Solo through his little speech, realizing he was right. He was an expert at seduction and charm, but raw sex is hardly romantic. Shrugging, she sipped at her tea, letting a silence fall through the room.

Until what he said actually sank in.

“Wait. What?”

Solo watched her with equally critical eyes, smugness pulling at his lips. “Oh come now, you can’t be that blind.”

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Gaby looked away, flushing under the scrutiny in his gaze. “Obviously I can. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Humming, Solo lounged back in his seat. “You are the only person that can calm that beast of a man when he has an episode. A few words from you and his finger tapping stops. I think the only other way to get him out of it is to let him destroy something, and that is so very expensive…”

“So I can talk him out of a bad place. He trusts me, that’s all that says. Trust and….being smitten are two different things. For instance, I trust you, but like you said,” she sighed wistfully, “we have no chemistry.”

Solo let out a laugh. “Think about what you just said, Gabs. You, a little double-agent mechanic from East Berlin got one of the most suspicious and dangerous KGB agents to trust you. Sure, it doesn’t necessarily mean he loves you, but that is quite the achievement.”

Rubbing her thumb into the lip of her cup, she swallowed hard before taking a deep breath. “Perhaps. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

Nodding, Solo shifted. “Well, then how about the way he looks at you? Even off missions where he’s supposed to be lovey dovey with you. He turns into a puddle.”

“He does not,” she shot back, but her mind had already begun to betray her with memories of his eyes, looking up at her as she stood on the table. Every line of his face softened but a kink between his brows. Years of pain and anger shed away in that moment, leaving nothing but….what?

Shaking her head, she tossed a glare at her partner. “He does not,” she repeated. “You’re just seeing his acting. Which,” she added, “isn’t spectacular but he gets the job done. He’s pretending, just like I do on these missions.”

But Solo only hummed. “You keep telling yourself that, Gabs.”

The door creaked open, causing both Gaby and Solo to tense. However, there was no intruder, just Illya coming back from his walk.

Gaby pursed her lips and feigned a smile at him. “Darling. Back so soon?”

He only hummed in response as he went to the bathroom with his camera, likely to hide and develop the photos like always.

But something was off.

He shuffled through the suite, refusing to look at either of them. His shoulders were hunched, his features distorted with something other than his usual dourness.

Was it…embarrassment?

As the bathroom door shut, Gaby looked back at Solo.

He looked back at her with a wide, almost wicked grin, lightly bouncing his foot as it lay over his other leg.

With a creeping feeling of coldness, Gaby remembered Solo’s shoes were bugged.

 

**

 

Later that evening, Gaby twined her arm into Illya’s as they strolled down the streets of the city in search of food.

An uncomfortable silence had settled over them, and they had barely shared a glance. The only thing keeping up their façade of marriage was their linked arms.

With each step she berated herself for everything she said. She should have known Solo was bugged, that Illya would hear.

She had insulted him, berated him, whined about him.

She had belittled the feelings of the most dangerous man she knew.

Making sure nobody could hear them, she turned her head up to him. His jaw was set, eyes bland. “Illya…”

He barely responded, only flicking his eyes down to meet hers with a noncommittal hum.

“You heard our conversation, didn’t you.” She let her eyes drop down to the sidewalk.

He didn’t respond at all.

“Illya I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said-“

“No. It’s okay. It was a private conversation. I shouldn’t have listened.”

She sighed. “It’s your job to listen to us and other private conversations.”

One massive shoulder rose and fell.

Timidly, she peeked up at him.

He looked away, scanning a shop window. “He’s wrong.”

She almost stopped walking. “Wait, what? Wrong about what?” Then it hit her. “About your feelings for me. Right. I thought as much.”

He gave a curt nod, still not looking at her. “It’s just for the mission.”

“Just for the mission,” she echoed, trying to ignore the ice settling in her chest.

When they finally found a small, family restaurant that suited them, they forcefully put back up the loving act.

To a degree.

Seated at their little table, they twined fingers. Illya let his legs stretch out into her space. Others would see it as a loving gesture of shared space. Gaby knew it was more due to the fact that if he sat in his own space, feet tucked under him, his knees would bump the table.

She scanned the menu blindly, deciding to just get whatever Illya ordered. She wasn’t hungry, the heavy guilt in her gut was making her sick. She cared for Illya, and yet she said so many cold things about him without a thought.

With a weary sigh, she hazarded a little caress of her thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flicked to their clasped hands for a moment before going back to the menu.

The rest of their meal was silent, and Gaby indulged in an extra glass of wine. For a fake relationship, the rift between them was causing a very real pain. She hoped it wouldn’t affect her ability to go through with the mission.

When Illya rose to wash his hands, Gaby was left by herself. Naturally, her instincts to her to be weary. Taking out her compact, she reapplied some lipstick, checking the mirror for anyone watching her too closely.

A tall man in black eyed her from outside. He leaned casually against a lamppost, thick-rimmed sunglasses shielding his line of sight from her, yet there was little mistaking it, his attention was locked on her.

“Is everything alright, signora?”

Shards of adrenaline shot through her body, catching her breath, she looked up at the waiter. Putting on a smile, she nodded. “Yes, of course.”

The young, gangly waiter nodded and left her alone.

Still breathing heavily, Gaby checked to see if the man was still there, watching.

He was gone.

 

**

 

That night, after discussing their mysterious tail, Gaby went to bed by herself.

Illya never joined her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some feels for ya


	3. Showtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the runway show. Despite her nerves, Gaby performs her duty without a hitch.  
> Mostly.

Gaby felt lost in a sea of models. She wasn’t the smallest of them, but most of the models were far taller than her.

And far more experienced.

They ran back and forth like bees in a hive, from hair to makeup to wardrobe. It was a madhouse, a never ending anxious bustle of silks and leathers. The smell of hairspray clung to every surface, mixing with the anxious sweat permeating the air.

The one redeeming factor was that Gaby never had to decide where she needed to be. She was constantly ordered around and physically moved. She barely had any time to think to herself.

With all the chaos backstage, she had no chance of doing her job. That was what frustrated her the most. She was bugged as always, and Solo was listening diligently to everything around her, but she was supposed to be the eyes of the mission. She couldn’t focus on anything.

She would just have to trust her boys and do her job to uphold their cover.

Finally, she heard the announcement that the show would begin soon. Immediately, she was herded into line with the other models, feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable next to the lineup of gorgeous, professional Italian models. She felt like a weed in a garden of roses. Despite all the makeup and jewels, nearly identical to the others, she still felt so starkly different. They were all tall, blonde, flawless. She was small, swarthy, with calloused hands, scars, and a number of other imperfections.

But she would do her best. She would have to flaunt her differences, play up the exotic edge. She would stand out against them for better or worse, and it was up to her to turn it to her favor.

Putting on as much cool confidence as she could, she waited her turn.

One slap on the back was all the warning she got before she was up.

With a shaky breath, she stepped out.

In front of her was an ocean of black, stippled with the bright flash of cameras. Without skipping a beat, she followed the course of the catwalk.

 _Breathe_ , she told herself.

Her heart thrummed in an erratic melody with the clipping flashes of the cameras and the clack of her heels on the marble.

All eyes were on her. All the buzz of noise was for her.

It was electrifying.

Through the haze of adrenaline in her head, she locked eyes with Illya.

He was seated in the audience like a good husband.

All tenseness was gone from his features, his wide eyes watched her every move. The awe in his expression was so unlike his usual surly attitude, it caught her completely off-guard.

Everyone else in the room melted into the background, and she paid each face in the crowd as much attention as paintings on a wall. As far as she was concerned, She and Illya were the only ones in the room. As she stepped along the runway, all she could register was his gaze, raking over her as she drew near. She wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he held their gaze at the same time as he admired the gown they had fitted her with. Angling herself to show the garment off, she posed, lifting her chin to look down her nose at him with the dangerous confidence she reserved for him.

She could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard. His head ducked faintly and he watched her through his thick lashes.

Feeling her face burn under the harsh lights of the catwalk, she turned and walked back, swaying her hips a little more than necessary.

Once she was behind the curtain, her job was done for now. She was safe and out of the line of sight of all those people. But her heart still pounded in her chest, her extremities burning as she continued to see his eyes.

Why had it caught her so off-guard? It was just a look, she looked at Illya all the time, and he at her. This was nothing new.

But it was, at the same time.

Taking a breath, she turned to go back to the dressing room to put on the next round’s clothes. This was something to think about for later, right then she had a job to do.

In the bustle of backstage, she never heard the heavy footsteps behind her. It wasn’t until the rag was pressed to her mouth that she realized she was in any real danger.

Gasping in preparation to scream, she breathed in the stinging moisture of the cloth. Fighting off the drug, she flailed a hand to claw at her attacker’s head, bucking to try and free herself. Hard, leather-clad arms wrapped around her to catch her as her legs gave out beneath her. Helpless, she pitched into nothingness.

 

**

 

As the first half of the show ended, many people rose to get drinks and mingle, but Illya remained in his seat. Partially because the crowd was too congested for his comfort, but also because he was still dazed by Gaby’s performance.

He wasn’t expecting her to utterly own her part as a model. She had more presence than any of the others.

And the intensity in her eyes when she saw him…when she reached the end of the runway…

“So, enjoying the show?”

Dragged out of his reverie, Illya turned to Solo as he lounged beside him. “You are a terrible spy.”

Solo grinned back at him. “You’re the one that keeps pointing it out in public.”

Sighing heavily, Illya stood, deciding the crowd had dispersed enough.

Unfortunately, Solo followed.

“She did a fantastic job, didn’t she? The amount of confidence in that little woman will always astound me.”

Illya stopped walking. “You should not have watched. You were supposed to listen.”

Solo looked away, only the slight shift of his weight gave away his guiltiness. “I tried. There’s too much interference with the speakers and the music, and there is so much going on back there I couldn’t pick up a thing. Just garbled nonsense.”

Illya let his shoulders drop as he swore in his mother tongue. They would have to depend on Gaby, then.

After a pause, Solo grinned up at Illya. “So…how was your dinner last n-“

Fire burned over Illya’s cheeks. “No,” he hissed, baring his teeth as he loomed over the American. “Is not your business. It never was your business.”

“Touchy touchy.” Solo’s voice was steady, but his fingers shook slightly as he straightened his lapel. His eyes flicked down to Illya’s hands, balled into fists at his sides.

Illya knew what he was looking for. He wasn’t fidgeting, he wasn’t tapping. He was angry, but he was still in control. Solo had abused his access to technology to ridicule him and Gaby.

“You had no right-“

“As your…friend, Peril, I was just trying to ease you two past this,” Solo waved his hand, “awkward phase.”

Illya leaned back, cooling slightly. “Awkward phase?”

“You know, not-quite kissing, playing the part but meaning it too, caring so much without saying a thing.”

“Stop.”

Solo raised a brow. He opened his mouth, but Illya cut him off. “You are the reason we get caught up in those moments. You set us up, and you ruin it. Always. Just…stop. It does nothing for either of us. Leave it be.”

Solo closed his mouth, watching Illya closely. “The more you fuss the more I know you care about her, you know. If you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t respond like this. You’d shrug it off.”

“I never said I didn’t care, just that you need to stop meddling.”

Solo’s eyes told him what his mouth did not: he had absolutely no intention of stopping anything.

With a heavy sigh, Illya murmured, “You’re hurting Gaby.”

This seemed to catch Solo off guard, and Illya left him to think about it.

The lights dimmed and everyone filed back to their seats.

Shifting to get comfortable, Illya watched the line of paper doll-like models file out from behind the curtain. Counting them, he waited to see what Gaby would wear when she came out.

Last time she had come out tenth.

Two…

The man behind him kept kicking his seat. Illya couldn’t focus on the dress being presented.

Three…

A nice pantsuit. Surprisingly flattering, considering the designer’s habit of making pants on women look frumpy.

Four…

Would she wear a coat like the others?

Five…

The theme of that portion seemed to be winter, early spring. Perhaps they would put her in something pastel?

Six…

Floral? No, Gaby looked much better in simpler patterns, color blocks and stripes.

Seven…

That last gown would look wonderful on her, he thought, and he decided to get it for her when he had the chance. Maybe Solo would pitch in, it seemed to fir the American’s tastes as well.

Eight…

That model looked like she was crying. Her ankle was swollen. With the ungodly height to her heels he wasn’t surprised she had twisted her ankle, but he praised her for her ability to not limp even in the slightest.

Nine…

So soon, he would see her. She was sure to look just as beautiful as the last time. Taking a breath, he prepared himself as the curtain parted once more.

Gaby did not come out.

Instead, another perfect blonde stepped out.

Illya could feel the cold sweat seeping onto his palms.

Maybe she was just late.

Still not Gaby.

He didn’t even process what the model wore, just that she was not his woman.

The final look.

Still not Gaby. In fact, it had been the same model that went first, just in different clothes. Her hair was mussed slightly. They had just tossed on a new outfit at the last moment. It didn’t even fit right.

Without thinking, he launched himself from his chair and waded through the audience, ignoring their scoffs and huffs.

Something was very wrong, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should be sorry but im not


	4. On the Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya and Solo search for their missing partner.

Illya barreled through people, effortlessly pushing them out of his way as he made his way backstage. Somewhere along the line Solo joined him, easily falling into the wake behind Illya.

“Peril what’s-“

“Gaby didn’t come out.”

Solo’s brows knit tightly. “She...damn.” Turning on the charm, Solo turned to the managers behind the scenes, telling simple lies to excuse himself and the large, angry Russian with him.

Leaving Solo to the talking, Illya craned his neck to look around the room, trying to find his little pretend wife. As always, it proved difficult, as Gaby was so small she was incredibly easy to miss, even when she was right in front of him.

Eventually, he found her station, marked by the purse and coat she had arrived in. Quickly rifling through them, he found nothing out of place. Her keys, sunglasses, perfume, everything was in her bag. If she had gone anywhere willingly, she would have taken them.

Over his shoulder, Illya heard Solo asking a model where Mrs. Solokov had gone. The model, the one that had replaced Gaby in the show, replied with a shrug and a flip of her hand. “I don’t know. They put me in her outfit, said they couldn’t find her in time to go out. Maybe she’s in the bathroom? It’s been a while, but I’d check there first. This was her first show, she could just be overwhelmed.”

Solo thanked the model and smoothly followed the model’s directions to the bathroom. Illya shadowed him, balling his hands into fists. If Gaby was just in there, racked with common stage fright, he would have made a fool of himself for nothing.

Solo knocked on the door and a smaller attendant came out. The poor girl was shocked to see Solo and Illya looming over her. Solo laid on as much charm as he could, and the attendant looked like she was about to explode.

“Excuse me, signorina, but would you happen to know if Elsa Solokov is in there? She missed her call, and her husband here is very worried.”

Shaking her head, the attendant stammered, “No, I was the only one in there.”

Illya watched Solo’s shoulders slump slightly. “Well then…is there anywhere else she could be?”

Again, the attendant shook her head. Illya wondered if she had actually stopped from the last time. “We looked for her before the second half, but we couldn’t find her. I-I’m sorry.”

“Is there anywhere she could have gone,” Illya pressed. “Any more back rooms? Backstage exits?” Solo shot him a little glare. Illya knew he was getting too worked up, but he didn’t care. Gaby was possibly in trouble, and the longer they put off finding her, the more trouble she was in.

The attendant stopped and thought for a while before shrugging. “There’s the maintenance area?” She pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “I think it has it’s own exit. But models aren’t allowed back there, and it’s fitted with an alarm, only authorized people can go through that door.”

“Are you authorized?” Again, Solo rolled his eyes at Illya’s bluntness.

“I am.” She barely touched a little chain at her hip.

“Can we borrow your pass?”

She stared at him. “What?”

Solo laid on the charm again, taking over. “I’m so sorry, my friend here just gets so blinded when his wife disappears that he loses track of what’s appropriate.” Solo slid his arm around her waist, leading her away as he continued to explain Mrs. Solokov’s habit of running away with more handsome men.

Illya shook his head and went over to the door, trying to figure out how to get past it without the pass.

Just as he thought he had it figured out, Solo slipped the pass into his hand. “We have about five minutes before she realizes it’s gone. Get to it.”

Shrugging, Illya swiped the pass and went through, letting Solo shut the door behind them.

There was no sign of Gaby in the halls behind the door. Darkness blanketed every corner of the dingy little hall.

They wandered through the maze of hall before coming up to a door, presumably the exit. Guilt and fear had settled into Illya’s gut, thick and heavy. Tossing Solo a little look he reached to open the door.

“Peril, wait. We don’t even know if she’s here. She could hav-“

“She can’t just vanish. She’s got to be somewhere, the sooner we stop talking and get to looking, the better.”

“Okay, you need to stop interrupting me.” Solo sighed and shifted to open the door before Illya. Suddenly, he let out a little hiss.

Illya rolled his eyes, itching to keep going. Determined, he ignored Solo as he picked something out of his shoe. Shoving the door open, he looked out onto the small alley behind the building, desperately looking for any sign of…well, anything.

“Peril look at this.”

Ready to snap the American’s smug little head off, Illya whirled around and glared at him, only to come face to face with an earring, dangling off of Solo’s finger.

It was undeniably Gaby’s, he had helped her pick them out that morning. It even had the same little nick in one of the gems he had tried to buff out hours ago.

Snatching it out of Solo’s hand, he stuffed the earring into his pocket.

They were on the right track.

 

**

 

The next half hour led the two of them through the back streets of Milan, following any little hint they could find. Scuffs in the dirt, suspicious tire treads, logic.

Just as they were about to give up, Solo checked the receiver for the bug he’d put on Gaby. It was the twentieth time he’d checked it, and he’d finally begun to apprehend when Illya was about to ask him to check it. Before Illya could take a breath, Solo had already started tuning it to get whatever he could from it.

“You know,” Solo drawled, “this thing has a really limited range. We probably won’t catch up to them on foot.”

Illya stubbornly ignored him, staring intently at the device in Solo’s hands as they walked. Solo wondered what was going through his head to make him stare so hard, it was like he was willing it to open up like an egg and reveal Gaby right there.

With a slight fuzzy sound, the same they’d heard each time before, Solo sighed. “It’s really no use, Peril. We should go back and regroup. Ask people at the party if they saw anything suspicious.”

Illya opened his mouth, preparing to answer. Probably something angry, by the look on his face.

He was cut off by a faint, breathy sound coming from the receiver.

Solo froze, hand hovering over the “off” switch of the device. Neither man moved a muscle, neither man even breathed.

The sound came again. A slight gasping breath, strained and tight.

They were in range.

Following the device and the snippets of breathing they could hear, the men found their way to a gallery. The doors and windows were covered with paper, each bearing a little sign saying it was closed for renovations.

Illya cradled the device in his hands, listening to the haggard breaths on the other side as Solo picked the lock to a side door.

Stepping inside, they were met with a blank space. Wide, whitewashed walls from one end of the building to the other, without interruptions. It was completely cleared out.

“There,” Illya hissed, nodding to a lone door on one of the walls. They raced over, their shoes clacking loudly on the wooden floor.

The door was locked, but the frame had begun to rot. One solid tug from Illya and the whole lock broke out of the wood, granting them access.

“Was that necessary,” Solo sighed as he followed Illya down the rickety stairs behind the door.

“Picking it would have been pointless. Faster this way.”

Solo shook his head and let the conversation drop as they made their way into the catacombs on the building.

Rats skittered across the floor, their beady eyes reflecting their flashlights. As dingy and uninhabited the halls seemed, the floors were swept clean, and there wasn’t a single cobweb in sight.

Solo hit Illya’s shoulder when they saw a light appear down the hall. A door had opened, letting a stream of flickering yellow light leak into the darkness. Illya nearly vibrated next to Solo, and Solo’s own muscles sang with the need to run towards it, but instinct kept him still as a long shadow appeared in the illuminated doorway. A man, pacing the room.

They could barely make out the sounds of talking, it sounded like an argument.

Another shadow appeared in the door, shorter, thicker. It shrank as the owner stepped towards the doorway. Solo and Illya both fumbled to turn off their flashlights, weary of being seen by the man.

As he stepped out, they heard him, his voice dripping with anger, laced with fear. “You sort this out, Bobrik.”

They heard a muddled reply, most likely Bobrik.

Then, out stepped Damian Nazzaro, the very man they were in Milan to speak to.

They watched in shock as the small Mafioso went down the other side of the hall, leaving through an unseen door. The click of the latch echoed through the hall.

Illya turned his head to look down at Solo, their faces dimly lit from the still-open door. Solo met his eyes, cocking his head with confusion.

Finally, Illya couldn’t hold out any more.

Angling each step to muffle the sound of his shoes on the concrete, Illya made his way to the open door. Solo mimicked his movements, staying close to the Russian’s tail. As quickly and quietly as possible, Illya took out his concealed gun before rounding the corner and stepping into the room. Solo hung back, hoping to give them some element of surprise.

“Kuryakin?” A flighty voice floated out of the room.

“Bobrik.” Illya’s replying growl sent a shiver down Solo’s spine. They knew each other.

That could go badly, Solo realized, gripping his gun tightly.

He heard Illya’s heavy steps as he made his way over to the other occupant of the room. “What are you doing here,” his birth language rolled off his tongue.

“Working. Living.” Bobrik nodded a little, fidgeting. “Hiding.”

Solo racked his head. He knew the name Bobrik. Somewhere in Illya’s file it had said he and Anton Bobrik had been partners in the KGB. Until Bobrik broke away from his mission to defend his lover.

There was still a price on his head.

Turning the situation over in his head, Solo listened to the soft clack of Illya’s shoes on the concrete.

All at once there was a scuffle, the heavy sound of a body meeting a wall. Deep, gasping breaths.

“Where is she.” Illya’s growl was dangerous, thick with rage.

“W-where is who? Illya I don’t…” Solo could hear the man writhe against the wall, trying to free himself.

Solo glanced in just in time to see Illya’s free fist connect with Bobrik’s gut. He had the man pinned to the wall, his fist balled up in the paler man’s shirt.

“Peril, please!” Solo stepped in, holding a hand out to Illya to calm him. His other hand still held his gun tightly. Illya’s lip was curled taut over his bared teeth. Solo wasn’t about to take any risks.

“I know him. An old partner. He took Gaby.”

Bobrik’s hands shot up defensively. “I didn’t take anybody I don’t-“

“I can smell her perfume on you.”

Bobrik almost whimpered at the intensity of Illya’s glare. After a pause, he spilled everything. “Nazzaro contracted me to protect him, you know about his whole thing with the mafia, how he wants out. He doesn’t want any hits on him, yeah? Makes sense. He knows a lot of shit-“

“Get on with it,” Solo said, eyeing Bobrik wearily.

“Right, yeah. Of course.” He laughed nervously. “So anyways he asked me to keep an eye on anything suspicious. I picked up on a really convenient trio of people signing into his hotel, getting into his show, you know. You did it, yeah? Raoul Solokov? Nice. Would’ve fooled anyone but me and you. I learned from the best.” With a weak grin, he shrugged.

“Don’t kiss ass,” Illya warned.

Solo wondered if the little man had shit himself yet. Going off of his expression, he had. “Right. Okay. So…I let Nazzaro know there was a lot of…weirdly convenient things happening, and he had me tail you. I swear, Illya, I didn’t know it was you. I only saw the girl. When I told Nazzaro he had me look into it, I knew I’d seen her face before. I found out she was one of the escapees from East Berlin, thought that might be useful in protecting Nazzaro, yeah? Thought it might get me a bonus, helping him turn someone back behind the Curtain.”

“We saw him leave, just now. He didn’t seem so pleased,” Solo’s brow knit as he wandered around the room, looking for signs of Gaby. Like the hall, it was swept clean. Not a speck of dust to show a struggle or movement at all.

“Well, no, he wasn’t. See, he wanted this to be really hush hush. Nobody knows about anything, right? Nobody hears anything about him until he’s in the clear…and he…well he didn’t appreciate me taking her. Said I ruined the show, it’ll draw too much attention. So…he asked me to put it right, just…do it as quietly as possible.”

“Do what, put her back in Berlin?” Solo stepped over to them, shaking his head at Illya.

Bobrik nodded eagerly. “Yeah, you know, just quietly bring her back, get it over with, cover my tracks…the less fuss the better. Nazzaro wants as little fuss as possible.”

Illya clenched his jaw, shoving Bobrik into the wall. “So where is she.”

Bobrik blanched. “She’s…she’s in the bathroom, just there. I wanted to keep her contained…” with a little nervous laugh, he pointed them to another door in the room.

Solo stepped over and opened the door. It had been a bathroom at some point, but he wouldn’t call it one now. Where a sink had been there was only exposed pipes. A broken toilet leaned against the opposite wall. A dingy little window was the only light. The pane was open, level with the pavement of the alley outside. Under the window was a single red pump shoe, surrounded in some gravel from the street above.

“Ah,” Solo turned back to the Russians. “She’s not here.”

“What?” Illya’s roar covered Bobrik’s squeak.

“I-I swear she was in there! She was definitely there!”

Solo shrugged. “Well she’s not. Window’s open. There’s a shoe here. We can guess what happened.”

Illya’s face softened ever so slightly. “Go find her, Cowboy.”

Solo raised a brow. “What, you’re not going to be her knight in shining armor, coming to the rescue?”

Tossing the American a glare, Illya turned back to Bobrik, still firmly in his grip. “I have business here. I’ll catch up.”

Solo shrugged and went into the room to examine the scene, leaving Illya with his old partner. Finding nothing more of note, he climbed out the window to follow Gaby’s trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a longer chapter to make up for the delay in updates
> 
> also, check out my tumblr (artemis-writes.tumblr.com) if you want notifications when I update and some fanart


	5. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya confronts his old partner, follows Gaby's trail, and realizes something important about himself. He's had a long day.

Illya heard the scuffle of Solo climbing through the window, his grip tightening on Bobrik’s shirt.

The little man babbled an endless stream of pleading under Illya’s glare.

“I should turn you in. You’re still wanted for what you did,” Illya let the anger seep into his words. He felt himself go numb, all memories of Bobrik as his friend and ally melted into nothing. He had his duty to his homeland. Bobrik was wanted. Bobrik was a criminal. He needed justice.

“Illya please, you know what they were going to do to her…I-I had no choice!”

“She knew what she was getting into when she talked. She accepted her fate. You spared her, and for what? She died anyway, Anton. You gave her an extra week, running from the law, from the justice she knew she deserved.”

Bobrik writhed under him, emotion shattering across his face. “I gave her another week with me…it’s what she wanted!”

“You are so selfish. Ruining everything like that. Was it really worth it?”

“Yes.” Illya was taken aback by the certainty and strength in Bobrik’s voice. “It was worth it. I got to hold her as she died. It was peaceful, not a show or a warning.”

“You threw everything away for that?”

“Yes.” Bobrik’s voice softened. “I don’t care that my life is ruined. My last memory of her is good. She smiled at me as she passed. If I’d let them kill her…my last memory would have been very different.”

“All this for a memory. You have the KGB all over you, scouring the world for you…you’re a lackey for a Mafioso. All so you could have that moment?”

“And I’d do it again. I loved her. Would you do anything different? If it was the German girl?”

Illya froze.

Bobrik squirmed in the silence. “I-I mean, she is your woman, isn’t she?”

“She is not my woman,” Illya said, confused.

Bobrik looked dumbfounded. “Really?”

Illya shook his head, the fingers of his free hand twitching against his thigh.

"Please, Illya, let me go. I know what I did, and one day I’ll pay for it, I know. But please, Illya, don’t do this. Not now,” The fear surrounding Bobrik was palpable.

Illya remembered Bobrik and his Maria. Thick as thieves, some of the best agents the KGB had ever seen. He remembered the anguish between them when Maria told her secrets. He imagined Bobrik holding her in his arms as she succumbed to her disease.

His mind replaced Maria’s pale face with Gaby’s.

His chest seized.

Dropping Bobrik with a thud, he turned away. “Get out of here. If I see you again I won’t hesitate.”

Bobrik sobbed his thanks and scrambled out of the room, leaving Illya with his thoughts.

Finally free, Illya made his way out of the decrepit gallery. Walking the perimeter, he eventually found the window Gaby and Solo had used. From there, he followed the logical trail.

Unfortunately, he knew it was far too cold by now. Undoubtedly Solo had caught up with her or she had made it back to the hotel by herself.

He felt helpless.

Standing alone in the back streets of Milan, he let the beginning rain wash over him. Relief seeped into his bones. Relief that the mission wasn’t compromised. Relief that Gaby had managed to rescue herself, at least enough to get out of Bobrik’s hold. Relief that it hadn’t come down to unnecessary violence.

But there was still a nagging in his head. He didn’t know for sure if Gaby was safe or not and there was nothing to do about it.

He had two options: scour the city for the little chop shop girl, or go back to the hotel. Going back to the hotel would give him an opportunity to regroup, and it would let him know if she’d made it back there. Searching the city would possibly help him feel less useless as he got out to actually do something, yet it was also idiotic.

With a sigh of resignation, he walked out to the main street and called a cab.

 

**

 

After managing to avoid looking at everyone in the lobby, Illya shuffled into his room.

Sitting on the couch, enjoying a drink, was Solo. He turned and looked up at Illya as the door opened, a smug grin blooming on his face.

“Peril! Nice of you to show your face around here. I was beginning to wonder if that little man got the better of you.”

“Where is she,” Illya said, letting his exhaustion slip into his voice.

Nonchalantly, Solo jabbed his thumb behind him, towards the bedroom.

Looking between Solo and the door to the bedroom, Illya took a few weary steps before slowly opening the door.

The sheets, which had been impeccably made up that morning, were balled up in a huge mass in the middle of the bed. The only thing that gave away the fact that there was a person in the mass was the smallest bit of a foot. It was only the toes, small and swarthy.

Relief crashed over him, his heart tugging in his chest. Gingerly, he stepped into the room. As the light filtered into the darkness, the toes under the sheets twitched, curling a little. Afraid he woke her, Illya froze. When the toes went still again, he hazarded another step to the bed.

Her face barely poked out of the cocoon of blankets. Her face was clean, her fringe wet across her forehead. He nodded to himself, she’d gotten to bathe, wash away what all had happened.

The sight of her, completely at ease and safe in the bed clawed at him with an unfamiliar feeling.

He was overjoyed to see her.

He was angry with himself for allowing her to get hurt.

He was upset that he was ultimately no help.

He was proud of her for escaping on her own.

But most of all, he was tired.

Unfortunately, the bed was occupied. He couldn’t bring himself to evict her or even nudge her over just enough to fit himself into the bed.

His shoulder ached as he decided to sleep on the couch instead. Walking out, he sighed when he remembered that, too, was occupied.

“Get out, Cowboy.”

Solo looked hurt for a split second, like a kicked puppy. “Don’t you want to know what happened? I sure want to know what happened with your friend there…”

Illya rubbed his eyes. “Tomorrow.”

Sighing dramatically, Solo hoisted himself off of the couch and downed his drink before wandering out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment Illya laid down on the cramped little couch, sleep claimed him.

 

**

 

As always, Illya woke at the first light of day. This time, however, instead of it being a natural thing, he jerked awake after a nightmare. The cool morning air pricked at the cold sweat on his skin. Flickers of the dream flashed across his memory, seeping away as he slowly woke all the way.

Unfortunately, the sick feeling of dread remained. Stiffly, he rose from the couch and rolled his shoulders.

He needed a shower.

As carefully and quietly as possible, in fear of waking Gaby, he gathered his things and bathed. He reveled in the feeling of the hot water washing away the ache from the night before and the cold slick of his nightmare.

Satisfied that he had a clean start to the day, Illya shut the shower off and dressed. Creeping back into the main area, he sat at his chess set and started a game, letting himself get lost in it.

Until he heard the shift of blankets in the next room, and a soft murmur of his name.

Worried Gaby was unwell, he launched himself out of his seat, ignoring his protesting muscles. He peeked into the room first to make sure she was actually awake, and saw her sprawled over the bed, less covered by the blankets.

She looked down her nose at him from her pile of cotton, a lazy smile slowly creeping over her face. “Illya,” she repeated, her tone sleepy and happy.

He let himself relax as he walked in, tilting his head. “What do you need?”

A slender shoulder rose and fell. “I just wanted to see you. Napoleon said you were really upset last night, and I didn’t get to see you come back. I just wanted to make sure you got back safe.”

Against his will, his lips pulled into a little smile. “Here I am. Safe and sound.”

She grinned wider. “Safe and sound.”

He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her, basking in the early morning light, smiling just for him.

In the easy silence between them, he began to put the pieces together. Or rather, he began to let down the wall of denial he had built up over the last few months.

It hadn’t been just an act. He cared more for Gaby than he ever thought he could care for anyone. Stubbornness had led him to believe she would never see him as anything more than just the ass that had ripped the trunk off of her car.

It was possible she did actually see him that way, even after all this time, but the easy, trusting smile she was giving him was a very solid argument against that.

In that moment, Illya Kuryakin realized he was falling for Gaby Teller, if he hadn’t already fallen completely.

It terrified him.

Breaking their eye contact, he looked out the window. “It’s early. Get some more rest.”

Her brow knit together. “But you’re up.”

“I always wake up now.”

She wriggled to sit up, fighting against the plush blanket around her. “I’ve been asleep for long enough.”

“You need rest, not just sleep.”

Her chin stuck out. “Fine.”

With a huff, she buried herself into the blankets again.

He could almost hear Solo’s voice in his head. “Well done, Peril, the same moment you realize you’re in love, you piss her off. That’s another record for you.”

Slumping back into the couch, he forced his mind to shut up, erecting the walls of denial again as he got back to his game of chess.


	6. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby gets what she wants.

Gaby bit her lip hard.

After Solo told her about how angry and protective Illya had gotten, she thought maybe he was going to sit down and talk to her.

The past couple of days she had been waiting for him to actually open up and talk about what Solo had said. They needed to discuss what their partner had insinuated about them. Someone outside of the two of them thought they had chemistry, thought they were harboring feelings for each other.

From past experience, she had learned that that kind of shit needed to be out in the open.

Unfortunately, Illya was just about as open as the borders of East and West Berlin.

But which one of them had ended their last conversation in a childish huff?

Groaning to herself, Gaby sat up and slid out of the bed before making her way into the main room and plopping down next to Illya.

He started and whipped his head around to stare at her. “What are you-“

“We need to talk.”

His mouth hung open for a moment. She watched as the color drained from his face. He was completely at a loss for words.

Taking a deep breath, she began. “You know what Napoleon said to me. About us. I need to know the truth. Is it just an act? For the mission.”

A range of emotions stormed through his eyes. The most striking was vulnerability.

When he finally did speak, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Gaby…”

She waited for more, keeping her mouth shut as she eyed him expectantly.

He looked at her with wide eyes, weighing his words carefully. “I…care about you, Gaby.”

He was tiptoeing around it, but the softness in his eyes and the emotion in his words told her exactly what she needed to know. “I care about you, too,” she whispered, shifting up onto her knees.

They sat in silence, unspoken words swimming around them.

She decided if she didn’t go for it then, take what she wanted, she would never get it.

“Kiss me, Illya.”

He looked like he’d been slapped.

“No interruptions this time. Really kiss me. Please.”

She wasn’t sure he was breathing.

With a barely visible nod, he leaned in, as slow as ever. She closed her eyes as the musky scent of him engulfed her.

Their lips met, just barely. His breath shook against her skin as he used all of his self-control to hold back.

“You won’t break me, Illya. Let go,” she whispered against his lips. Smoothing her hands up his chest and neck, she laced her fingers on the nape of his neck and pulled him in, leading him to deepen the kiss.

His broad hands slid around her sides, following her lead by pulling her closer.

Gaining confidence, they both relaxed, giving into the kiss entirely.

Months of tension shattered around them.

**

 

Solo knocked on the door for the second time and waited.

Still no response.

Rolling his eyes, he used his key to open the door to Illya and Gaby’s suite.

Raising a brow at the half-finished game of chess in the main room, he wandered to the bedroom.

Illya curled around Gaby, his beefy arm blocking her bare chest from Solo’s view as they slept, tangled in the sheets of the bed.

Nodding smugly to himself, Solo walked out of the room.

The mission could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks!   
> thanks for all the great feedback, I really appreciate it.   
> and if you really like this, there's more on the way, i've got ~~ideas~~

**Author's Note:**

> trying my hand at a big mission fic. i have no idea what i'm doing. whoops.


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